


Broken Deals

by aurics



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Friends to Lovers, Fugitives, M/M, Road Trips, Running Away, slight mention of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: Though Seongwoon and Minhyun are both smart and lucky as fugitives, they soon learn that trying to outrun the law is nothing like trying to escape fate. The latter, it seems, is not up for bargain.





	1. The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> My first onghwang fic after many days of crying over them! Hopefully this isn't too whack haha
> 
> Thank you to the mods of @onghwangweek for holding such a great event and giving me the motivation to bring this little plot bunny to life! ♥ and 50000 thank yous to my ride or die kei who put up with all my whining, late-night thirst messages and tirelessly beta-ed this on her commute ~~and also gave me the idea for the ending hehe~~
> 
> Hope you enjoy this little contribution of mine!

They stare down at the smoke pouring out of the engine compartment of the car with matching deep-seated frowns.

“It’s a coolant leak,” says Minhyun decisively.

Seongwoo tips his head. “Maybe we can fix it?”

The engine sputters, then lets out an explosion—small enough to be harmless, but loud enough to make Minhyun take a step back and for Seongwoo to clutch at his arm, lest he really does jump out of his own skin.

When the noise subsides they peer into the hood again, only to see the engine engulfed in flames. Minhyun squints, sees slick all over the machinery of the car and promptly shuts the lid with a bang.

“Wh-what? Are you doing?” Seongwoo blurts out, staring with wide eyes first at the now-trapped fire starting in the car, then at Minhyun opening the passenger door and grabbing their stuff, then at the fire again. “Minhyun. What are you doing?”

Minhyun pulls his worn NASA cap on and throws Seongwoo his backpack, which he catches though not without confusion. He hoists his own over his shoulder, fits a beanie over Seongwoo’s head and takes his hand. Seongwoo’s breath definitely does not catch.

“It’s going to blow. We need to run.”

A second later they’re running aimlessly across the dirt, the vast expanse of land stretching out in front of them providing neither cover nor an alternative hiding space—but they run anyway, hand in hand and the blood rushing in their ears.

Minhyun is a couple of steps ahead (he always is) that by the time they’re at a safe distance, panting and on their backs with their rucksacks as pillows, it takes another minute and a half until the car really _does_ blow up, smithereens of metal and glass thrown in the air and falling in the burning wreckage of what was their trusty runaway vehicle for the last week.

“That’s our third one now,” Seongwoo says through a cough, grimacing at Minhyun as he pulls off his now sweaty beanie. “What are we doing wrong, huh?”

“Becoming fugitives, maybe,” deadpans Minhyun, already getting up to dust himself off. “Maybe if we were regular citizens, we’d be able to rent a proper car.”

“Always the problem solver,” Seongwoo croons as he punches Minhyun’s upper arm, earning him a pout.

“Someone has to be the brains between us. Now get up, we’ve got a long trek ahead and I’m about two hours away from dying of thirst."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The vast expanse of land turns out not to be so empty because after almost an hour of trekking, they come across a gas station with a small diner and a grocery store wedged within its perimeters. In the glaring heat of the afternoon sun, the small and quiet complex is almost indistinguishable from its grimy surroundings. It’s the perfect cover.

“Let’s stock up on whatever we need here. Putting your shades on now would be a good idea.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you love how badass I look in them,” grins Seongwoo, pulling the pair he’d nicked from their last stop out of the front pocket of his backpack. He’s never told Minhyun where he got them from. “Geez, if you wanted me to dress up a little, all you had to do was _ask_.”

“I _did_ ask,” Minhyun replies in amusement, a hint of a smile tugging his lips upwards. “And you don’t look badass in them. You just look… handsome.”

Minhyun pats a speechless Seongwoo on the cheek and brushes past him gracefully to slip into the grocery store. It’s another half minute before Seongwoo snaps out of his stupor and follows suit.

The blast of cool air from the old—but clearly still functioning—AC switches Seongwoo back on to his high-alert mode, and Minhyun motions with his hand to lean in as he speaks to him in rapid whispers.

“Look, we don’t have that much left, and we need the cash for emergencies. So this time… this time we’re going to have to _take_ . Don’t go overboard with the _taking_ , okay?”

Smirking, Seongwoo jostles him with shoulder, not cowering when Minhyun shoots him a sharp look with his sharp eyes. “Aw, is Minhyunnie scared of a little shoplifting?”

A pinch, a cry stifled by a slender but incredibly capable hand. “Shut it or I’m leaving you stranded here alone.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t make fun of our survival tactics anymore."

They walk away from the entrance and into the store with smiles on their faces, trying to forget the fact that they must look like sweating sun-roasted tomatoes after their walk in the harsh, naked daylight. The old man at the cashier looks up from his newspaper in disinterest and tips his head at them. They bow slightly.

“If we work smart,” Minhyun murmurs, “We won’t have to spend too much time in here.”

“Well, too bad we’re not very smart workers, huh?” Seongwoo drawls, already walking between the aisles and throwing him a wolfish smile over his shoulder.

They grab things in order of what they’re most desperate for—bottles of water, chewing gum, protein bars, a couple of socks and underwear. Seongwoo is lingering in the stationery aisle, wishing he can swipe more than a pen or two when a particular pile in the corner catches his eye.

“Hey,” Seongwoo shout-whispers across the store, repeating the word a few times. He makes a mental note in his head that they should probably think of code names for themselves. “Hey, come here!"

Out of nowhere, there’s a chin tucking over his shoulder and arms wrapping around his middle, and Seongwoo yelps embarrassingly.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Hm? Just playing my part,” Minhyun’s breath fans warm over the comparatively cold skin of his neck. "Isn’t our cover the ‘young couple on the run from their disapproving parents to elope together’ storyline? That’s not what we agreed on?”

“That sounds a lot like the truth.”

“We’re not eloping, I’d never let myself get hitched to your sorry ass. But it’s the story we decided on, Mr. Ong."

“I don’t even remember us discussing this.”

“Really? Well, we really should have. Because not having proper covers is a careless mistake.”

“Or, being completely anonymous and identity-less is ideal.”

“No, it just raises suspicions. Anyway, what’d you call me over for?”

Minhyun’s arms are still wrapped around Seongwoo. He tries not to think about it. “They sell cute stickers here, look.”

“...You called me all the way here for stickers?”

“Pick one,” insists Seongwoo, holding up two cut-out stickers in each hand. They’re all adorned with the same _Welcome to Paradise!_ text in different typefaces, printed across a background cut into various shapes of various colours—a green palm tree, a pink heart, a yellow pineapple, an orange fox.

“A fox? How does that have anything to do with paradise?” Minhyun makes a face. “Who’s the graphic designer for these stickers?”

“Who cares, I like it. It’s probably expressionist in concept, or absurdist or something. I call dibs on the fox,” he says quickly, covering said sticker with a thumb, heart racing a little—doesn’t say he’s choosing it because the fox reminds him of Minhyun. “What about you?”

Minhyun tucks the pack of gum and a Swiss army knife into his jacket pocket naturally, leaning into Seongwoo until the latter can smell the slight minty scent on his breath. They stay like that for a while until a small smile creep onto Minhyun’s lips.

He heaves a sigh that speaks of fondness and plucks the pink, heart-shaped sticker out of Seongwoo’s hand.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
The water bottles turn out to be both a good and bad idea. Good because it means they won’t be dying anytime soon from thirst; bad because it means they’re both in need of a break after only half an hour of walking.

There’s an abandoned hut by the side of the main road; the location of which, Minhyun guesses, is the midpoint between their next destination and the gas station they’ve left behind. Under the shade of a rusty awning, they decide to rest up until they feel strong enough to continue. It’s not an ideal plan, the one they’ve concocted; there are too many uncertainties, but Seongwoo knows they’re not in the position to be picking.

Though worn out, they continue talking to each other about events both old and new, joking about what the future holds and pointing out the scant but interesting cars that pass by. The sun is sinking low on the horizon and the day is on its way to becoming just another date on the calendar for him, but Seongwoo makes the mistake of stealing a glance at Minhyun mid-laugh.

He has his eyes scrunched up into half-moons and mouth set in a carefree grin; there’s a pink flush on his cheeks and flyaway strands of brown hair stick to his forehead with a sheen of sweat. His shoulders are relaxed, his oversized shirt is hanging off of him slightly and there’s a heavenly bronze glow to his collarbone cast by the sunrays itself—his beauty renders Seongwoo breathless and if someone were to tell him he is in heaven right now, he would believe them.

Seongwoo wishes he had a camera just so he could immortalise this unselfconscious, unguarded Minhyun. But he doesn’t, so he has to make do with committing every smile and every staccato of his laugh to memory; slipping them in the most guarded compartment in his brain like he had slipped the couple of gum packets into his hoodie. The only difference is, there is no substitute for this image of Minhyun, and without it, Seongwoo thinks he might really truly die.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They come across a garage that looks close to meeting its expiration date, dilapidated roofs threatening to cave in on itself and every corner of the place reeking ‘ _I’m out of business_.’ Minhyun declares it the perfect place, and walks right inside to bargain for a car (whose owner has long forgotten about) with the lead mechanic (who’s all too eager for anything to be sold to ask very many questions).

"This is why they always break down,” complains Seongwoo, picking at the peeling paint of the car with distaste. At least Minhyun’s chosen the red one—the green car had an even more horrific paint job. “If we picked a less ratty place, maybe we’d get one that would last for more than a week.”

“Our last one held up for a week _and_ three days.”

“Yeah, then blew up in our faces."

“Well, you got a better idea?” challenges Minhyun, and for some reason it fires Seongwoo up a little.

“Yeah, I do, but you never listen to them,” he spits out.

Minhyun throws the keys in the driver’s seat, rests his arms on the top of the car and fixes Seongwoo a piercing stare, mouth set in a hard line. “Let me hear it now, then.”

He’s about to say it—really, he is, but then the words register in his head and Seongwoo thinks better of it.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” snorts Minhyun derisively. “Because you only ever have one solution, and it’s the one that got us in this mess. Don’t you forget that."

A noise pierces through the tranquility abandoned car warehouses are prone to have. It’s screeching, drawing close—and even worse, is hauntingly familiar.

“It’s the police,” Minhyun confirms what Seongwoo dreads most, and his blood turns to ice.

“Shit, shit, shit—“

“Don’t panic, just—hurry up, throw your bag inside. We just need to get the hell out of here.”

The noise, now clearly identifiable as sirens, loom closer. They pile in, Seongwoo in the driver’s seat and Minhyun with their backpacks in the passenger’s seat.

“Drive safe,” Minhyun says, looking over their shoulder as Seongwoo haphazardly backs out of the garage and turns a tight corner onto the main road. “We don’t want to speed and look suspicious.”

“We’re in a half-century-old car with a non-existent number plate driving in the middle of nowhere _to_ nowhere,” he replies breathlessly. “Baby, we’re plenty suspicious already."

  


* * *

  
  


For all the complaining Seongwoo does, he can only feel relief when he’s clutching at Minhyun’s hair and hears him apologise for his earlier jab. His reply is in the form of a loud moan as he rides through the one of the best climaxes of his life.

The good thing about a ratty old car is not having to feel guilty about the spunk they leave on the backseat.

  


* * *

  


They first see the new pictures in the back of a restaurant. It’s nestled between the motel they’re going to stay in for the night and a 24-hour minimart, and the pictures are pasted on a cork board overflowing with a slew of flyers, leaflets and mini-posters, some in tatters and some brand new.

The updated _Wanted_ posters are amongst the fresh-out-of-the-printers ones, and there’s a big red ‘X’ over where the original bounty was written—it’s now been tripled, believe it or not. That can’t be a fair price, but no matter—that’s none of their concern.

Seongwoo takes a couple of surreptitious glances around the room. The restaurant is full, and no one should notice his actions unless a chef or waiter walks out of the kitchen door right next to the corkboard—but there are patrons whose faces he can’t see, and really, they can never be _too_ careful.

Seongwoo pulls Minhyun in to crowd him against the board and latch onto his neck, strong hands keeping his hips flush to the wall when he tries to wriggle free.

“What the fu— _Seongwoo_ ,” Minhyun hisses, biting back the moan at the back of his throat. His neck has always been a sensitive spot, and as much as Seongwoo would love to spend the rest of the night with his head tucked in there, worrying the spot right under Minhyun's jaw until it’s bruised red-purple, he has to stay focused.

“Poster. Right by your left ear,” he murmurs into Minhyun’s skin, a few decibels louder than a whisper. Minhyun’s whines grow quieter, but he slams his left hand on the board and Seongwoo takes it as a sign to bring their act up a notch. He thumbs the waistline of Minhyun’s trousers and he arches up as if in pleasure (or perhaps it’s not an act at all).

“This one?” Minhyun’s words are so slurred any passerby wouldn’t be able to distinguish it from the pleased noises he’s letting out.

Seongwoo looks up and sees Minhyun’s hand hovering over the poster. “Yeah, that one.” He goes back to busying Minhyun’s neck until he hears the subtle sound of paper ripping. Minhyun’s clawed the three posters off their pins and is now stuffing them in the pocket of his hoodie, under the guise of feeling up Seongwoo’s torso.

“Done, okay, now let’s—“

“All the young’uns these days, dunno nuthin’ ‘bout bein’ decent in public,” says a gruff voice behind Seongwoo. Freezing, he peels himself off of Minhyun but keeps his head down. “This place’s for eatin’, so eat or scram back to that filthy motel!”

“Yessir,” replies Minhyun resolutely, and once again he takes Seongwoo’s hand in his and pulls them both outside into the slowly cooling evening air. It seems like Minhyun is always getting them out of trouble, having Seongwoo in tow behind him like this, and Seongwoo never does anything more than let his heart beat uncontrollably in his chest.

“Time to get some hair dye,” is all Minhyun says, all back-to-business, because the pictures on the new posters are definitely recent, and definitely traceable to them in their current state.

Seongwoo nods, lips still tingling from the number he’d done on Minhyun’s neck. And later, when they’ve emptied out the packs of hair dye on the mattress and Minhyun is pulling strands of Seongwoo’s hair up to the light (now long and slightly unruly) with a brush balanced precariously in his other hand, Seongwoo can’t take his eyes off of the blue-purple marks peppered all over his neck. He wonders how long they’d stick around for.

“You know if we didn’t have to run away—“

Minhyun lets out a sharp exhale. He hates pondering over situations that are alternate to the reality they’re facing now, prefers instead to wrestle with problems that are already present. “Seongwoo.”

“No, just. Hear me out. You’ll love this,” he presses, closing his eyes as Minhyun coats another strand of hair with more dye. “If we didn’t have to run away, I’d still do it. What I did in the restaurant.”

“What, and get us arrested for public indecency?” chuckles Minhyun, “The rest of the country isn’t as tolerant as these parts, where no one else really goes to.”

“I’d do it in the summer, though,” Seongwoo continues as if Minhyun hasn’t interrupted. “So you wouldn’t be able to wear your stupid turtlenecks and everyone would _have_ to see the hickeys I put there. And you’d—you’d probably whine about it all day but secretly like it. You’d complain about it in the car or the subway, but quietly because you don’t want people to hear you. We’d be driving in this squeaky-clean car, like those showroom ones you like. But you’d forget about it as soon as we sit in your favourite cafe because I’d order your favourite smoothie and you can never say no to that.” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying so hard to picture a life they can’t have.

“Seongwoo—“

“I’m sorry. But I swear—I swear I’d make you so happy if I could.”

No one says anything for a while, and the dye on Seongwoo’s hair is starting to feel stiff from the negligence. Then he hears a sigh, and there’s a brush running past his scalp again.

“You idiot,” Minhyun’s voice is barely audible. “I’m already happy.”

Seongwoo snorts. “Yeah. Real happy, having an old man chase us out of a restaurant like that—"

_Scram back to that filthy motel!_

Seongwoo eyes fly open. Cold, cold dread seeps into his skin, then veins; he tries to get his breathing under control, tries not to get Minhyun’s attention, but every breath is laborious to take.

How did the old man know? Is he a spy? But why would the police hire a spy when orders were to arrest and tranquilise on sight? No, the old man was nothing more than a restaurant cook—nothing in his gait says otherwise. Seongwoo tries to breathe again.

He thought they’ve been careful; but apparently not enough to avoid predictability. Ironic, how the one thing Seongwoo craves most—mundanity, or routine, or _predictability_ —has seeped into their escape and is what ultimately brings them to the face of their demise.

 _No_ , he thinks. _It doesn’t have to be both of us._

Seongwoo has to run.

  


* * *

  


It hasn’t always been like this.

Back then—in a period that seems so far away, it might as well have been another lifetime to them—they had been classmates in one of their electives and had spent months flirting endlessly. The only games they had to play were the riddles of young love—dancing around each other in circles, solving the formula of infatuation and finding answers in shared admiration, affection and loyalty. They fell in love, and believed they formed a bond that transcended every word in the dictionary.

(Some would say they were thick as thieves, but between them, there was really only one.)

The abnormality has always been nothing more than an undercurrent flowing beneath the unremarkable facade of their lives; like a sharper edge to the blade people have always thought to be blunt. The sheer habit of _taking_ , but never the other word, though always as a last resort; a solution and not an aggravator. Just small things here and there, small enough that it remains hidden or deliberately overlooked by the other.

Then the _taking_ got bigger, had higher stakes. A friend needed help escaping; Sungwoon, who was wrongly accused of crimes he hadn’t done, had no option left to run _anywhere, anywhere but here_ —but the escape went wrong and an innocent man got caught in the ensuing crossfire. That innocent turned out to be a pretty fucking important statesman, and his murder, apparently, has warranted a manhunt for the murderer.

There was supposed to be only one fugitive running away from the situation, had everything gone according to plan. Instead there were three, with no way of reaching the solo rogue—it was like he disappeared into thin air, his grateful but apologetic smile the only thing he’s left behind in memories.

Seongwoo can only hope Sungwoon is doing okay, wherever he is.

  


* * *

  
  


“Minhyun,” he asks into the darkness enveloping them like a protective embrace. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m letting your hair air-dry because the walls are thin and the hairdryers would be too noisy,” Minhyun replies sleepily.

“No—not. Not that.” Seongwoo shifts closer to drape himself over Minhyun’s back, uncertain hands seeking Minhyun’s sure—always _so sure_ —ones. “Why are you running away with me? I’m the one who got myself in this mess.”

“You really think I’d let you do this alone? I still don’t know why you wouldn’t just appeal in court, but—"

“You know it won’t work—“

“Then there’s no question, here, Seongwoo.” Minhyun twists in his hold, eyes hard and voice suddenly laced with a force that wasn’t there before. “If you think there’s no other option than running, then I’m running with you. _This_ ,” he tugs on the back of Seongwoo’s neck and brings their lips close together. “This is non-negotiable."

Minhyun kisses Seongwoo like he’s trying to swallow down whatever words he’s trying to speak into existence. His hand cradles Seongwoo's jaw in a commandeering grip, teeth grazing on his lower lip before biting down hard enough for Seongwoo to kick a little at Minhyun’s legs, interlocked in his. When Minhyun finally rolls on top of Seongwoo, peels away his own shirt off and pulls Seongwoo’s hands to rest on the warm skin of his waist, Seongwoo can almost pretend this isn’t going to be the last time he’ll have him like this.

He’s whiled away the days played along with the charade—pretended that this is the real game, has let Minhyun believe they’re racing for the finish line together, because if anything, Minhyun is a big believer and Seongwoo is desperate to draw out the time they’ve got together; spend forever tracing every curve and dip in Minhyun's skin, commit the exact location of the dimples in his back to memory, fill his lungs with nothing but Minhyun’s scent. He would stretch time out to infinity, if he could, but he knows there are limits to how much he can fool himself.

There is still a whole stretch of life waiting ahead of Minhyun—he still belongs to a world that doesn’t threaten to swallow him whole with every turn; still has a clean track record, because the only crime he’s committed is falling in love with Seongwoo.

Minhyun deserves much, much better than what he’s got now. That, to Seongwoo, is non-negotiable.

As he thrusts up into Minhyun and kisses his temple with a moan, he says sorry over and over again—but never aloud, only in his head.

 

* * *

  


(The thing is, only one of them has done bad things; yet neither of them can escape the consequences.)

  


* * *

  


The backpack feels heavier by tenfold that morning as he slings it over one shoulder in the darkness of a dawn not yet broken. He doesn’t dare kiss Minhyun—he’s always been a light sleeper. Seongwoo unlatches the lock as quietly as possible, and when the door opens without a single creak he looks back at Minhyun’s sleeping form with his back to Seongwoo, looking so peaceful, so at ease.

So content, in his obstinacy and blindness to stay with the one he loves. This—this is for his own good.

It doesn’t matter that they’ve spent the better part of the night drowning in each other’s heat—Seongwoo still feels touch-starved. He resists, though, and only sends a prayer to whoever is listening above that they send down an angel from heaven to protect the one they’ve left behind on Earth, before he slips away.

And if Minhyun wakes up the next morning, already poised to run, from the blaring sirens outside the room to immediately reach out beside him, and only feels the empty bedsheets underneath his fingers—if the police breaks in merely to find a stunned, but clearly innocent, citizen sitting half-naked in the middle of the room—if Minhyun lets the suppressed sobs wrack through his body like silent knives as the police attempt to quell his shock that is futile because he isn't stunned to muteness by their arrival, but someone’s _departure_ —if Minhyun’s heart that morning is shattered into a thousand, million irretrievable pieces—well.

 

 

Seongwoo will never know.

 


	2. The Negotiation: A Prologue

 

_A Prologue_

 

Monthly reports don’t write themselves, though Minhyun wishes desperately they did. If they did, he wouldn’t be held prisoner in his usual glass-and-wood fitted coffee-shop-slash-workspace, toiling away on his internship-issued laptop like the modern equivalent of a pack mule.

Across the street, a car parked by the curb turns more than a couple of heads around. It’s hanging on practically by its hinges, the paint peeling away, the metal accents along its doors and windows flecked with rust and what used to be its bumpers are now definitely on the fast track to the landfill. It’s no sight for sore eyes, but it’s got a certain charm that makes Minhyun smile despite the slight migraine. It’s like a breath of fresh air, seeing the beat-up car unashamedly parked between pristine, modern cars.

Minhyun’s always been averse to dirt and disorder; but he also has a penchant for falling in love with unconventional messes.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Minhyun’s about to lie and say _yes, it is_ , because he’s really not in the mood for company right now and the cafe is near _empty_ , for god’s sake, the stranger can pick literally any seat his heart desires—but then he looks up and—

It’s the boy from his Finance Maths elective last semester, Ong Seongwoo, with his sunglasses still on and a finger to his lips. Like it’s a secret. Like this is a pre-determined meeting and he wants to keep Minhyun all to himself.

He doesn’t know it yet, but this will not be the last time Seongwoo sits at his table and steals sips from his lukewarm cup of cappuccino to distract him from work. In a few years’ time, it will also become the very table upon which Seongwoo will sit that one dreary morning, with his head down and dark eyebags clinging to his face, confessing in a quiet voice to Minhyun that he must run away.

In that moment, however, Minhyun orders Seongwoo a cup of coffee, closes his laptop and queues up the best one-liners he can think of in his head—because for all he knows, this may be the last time they’ll have each other like this.

And _god_ does he want to make it count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small antidote of sorts... ♥


End file.
